Long Journey || ATEEZ

Yeosang's Time

2014

Yeosang yawned as he stared at the metal bars in front of him. The cement floor under his bare cheek was cold to the touch, and despite the prolonged contact he'd had with it, all it seemed to be doing was sucking his warmth – and his soul – away.

How long had he been lying there, with nothing to eat or drink, with indifferent handcuffs chafing away at his skin, not caring whether he lived or died, where the only thing that mattered to it was doing its job of restraining him? It felt like years – longer than his short lifetime of fourteen years – but in reality it had only been three days. Yeosang refused to admit he had been counting, though.

He wondered how long he would stay here until they killed him. Unless they planned on starving him to death. At least that sounded more appealing than burning. And that was probably what they'd do to him. After all, he was a witch, and for whatever reason, the government hated them. They were okay with any other Children of Magik using their abilities, but the minute a yuzeul decided to pursue the career of potion-making and jinxing, they had a problem with it. It wasn't like he had done anything bad, either. Not anything he considered bad, anyway.

He rolled over onto his back, and tried to sit up. His insufficient core muscles protested, and he was left with his head bobbing up and down as he tried to get up without the use of his hands. After a while, he gave up, and rolled over onto his front, this time. He leaned on his hands, the metal edges of the cuffs digging into his soft, fleshy wrists, and manoeuvred himself onto his knees. Sighing with the excessive effort it had taken to get up, he slumped back onto the colourless grey wall behind him.

Suddenly, he straightened, as he heard footsteps approaching. With a creak, the metal door opened, and a boy fell through. The policemen looked at him fall pitilessly, then wrenched the black cloth blinding him off. The door clanked shut, and the two men left without so much as another word nor glance.

* * *

Yeosang stared at the masked man's expressionless face as they were dragged along white-clad corridors. His eyes were blank, and hard as stone. His irises even had the quality and colour of one.

His mind struggled to comprehend what was going on, even if a small part of it understood that he was being marched to his death. He could sense it deep down, and all over his body alarm bells were ringing, secreting some substance that seemed to keep his mind clear, sharp and in focus and preventing it from clouding with foggy panic.

He turned his head to look at Wooyoung, who didn't seem to have that emergency signal that took over his brain and forced it to calm, as currently his eyes were flitting all around, his nose palpitating, looking to Yeosang for some kind of guidance.

Yeosang shrugged in reply, letting him know that he didn't quite know what was going on, either. Wooyoung only seemed to panic even more. The man in white forged on.

A little while later, they arrived at a door, simple and plain. There was no handle in sight, but as the trio approached, it opened with a cold, automatic swoosh, and they were shoved in. The door slid quietly back closed, the man already long since gone.

There was a click as Yeosang and Wooyoung's handcuffs came undone.

Yeosang shook his head, looking around. The room had been whitewashed, a stark contrast to the grey that had enveloped his accommodation, and it hurt his eyes to look at. At the very back of the room, there was a machine, looking quite similar to the things at the optician's that took photos of your eyes.

Next to it, sat another man. He was also wearing white; however his attire looked to be more like that of a scientist than anything. A purple stripe had been painted across his nose, and he wore a benevolent smile.